


Tranquillity and Shadows

by Silent_So_Long



Category: Marvel Avengers Movies RPF, Thor (Movies) RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Gen, London, London Underground, Vampires, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-19
Updated: 2013-03-02
Packaged: 2017-11-29 20:59:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 21,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/691379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silent_So_Long/pseuds/Silent_So_Long
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tom meets an Australian man in a London cafe, little knowing that that one meeting will change his life forever. AU in which Tom and Chris don’t previously know each other;  Tom’s an actor working in London’s West End (specifically the Dominion Theatre on Tottenham Court Road), whilst Chris is a zoo-keeper working at London Zoo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chris

**Author's Note:**

>  
> 
> The places featured in this fic (the Dominion Theatre, Cafe Rouge, etc) are all real locations in London; I have actually attended a theatre production myself in the Dominion many years ago and have shopped in Covent Garden's Apple Market, although I had to Google details on Cafe Rouge, as I sadly am not familiar with it. I also had to check the train routes throughout London to make sure everything was as factually correct as I could make it! (random fact, but I was actually born near London, although I moved away many moons ago. I have never seen either a werewolf or a vampire in the London Underground, although I still can hope!)

Chris walked into the Cafe Rouge, eyes heavy-lidded with weariness, yawn trapped behind a swiftly upraised hand. It had been a long day, yet despite his tiredness and aching feet, he knew that he wouldn’t be able to sleep easily that night. Only coffee and food would settle his frayed nerves into something resembling normality, for he had been on edge and jittery all day. He’d already passed an hour or two roaming aimlessly through the masses of London, hoping to tire himself out enough to be able to sleep, before he turned up for his booking at the Cafe Rouge; Chris knew, however, that his efforts had been wasted. He was still too keyed up to rest properly, the constant pressure of keeping control of himself wearing him down and keeping him awake by turns.

Even now, as the almost full moon was left to shine over the streets outside, he could feel an electrically charged power thrumming in the air, calling to his static-frayed nerves, the lingering beast that slumbered inside him and setting his teeth on edge in distracted discomfort. He tried not to think of his own distraction, by purposefully staring around at the cafe he’d randomly chosen for the evening. 

His nostrils flared and he could smell the heavy scents of coffee surrounding him, surprisingly homely despite the unfamiliar layout of the cafe. No matter wherever he went, the smell of coffee and sweet pastries always made him feel welcome, and at home; cafes, at least, could be counted on to be normal, no matter what other madness befell him. He made his way through the cafe, trying to ignore the press of humanity that brushed against him in distracting ways, heated skin and the distinctive scents of human bodies almost unbearable; he felt super charged, too sensitive, almost as though the light was too bright despite the intimate levels of the cafe‘s lamps. 

Some of the clientele gave him strange looks as he passed, as though they didn’t think him good enough to frequent the cafe. He ignored them, knowing that he had as much right to be there as they did; he’d booked a table in advance, curious to try the famed sirloin steak he’d overheard people discussing at London Zoo. 

Chris pushed ever onwards, nostrils flaring as he passed a man seated in the middle of the room, who looked to be half asleep over a well-read, and obviously well-loved, book propped open in front of him. Chris glanced down as he passed, attracted by the scents of the other’s meal and saw the plate of sirloin steak and French fries the man was wearily eating, raising the fork to his mouth as though by rote, instead of with genuine need and hunger. Chris could all but sense the other’s weariness baking off him; he wondered what had happened to the man that day that he needed to almost physically force himself to eat. 

Chris turned away, knowing that it was really none of his business, and made his way towards the counter, an inescapable hunger gnawing at his lean belly. The sight of the half-eaten steak on the weary man’s plate had reminded him of just how hungry he was, piquing his appetite into almost painful levels. His fingers curled against his sides and he controlled the urge to rampage through the cafe with almost animalistic intent; his teeth ached with the urge not to bite, to snap, to cause harm to those that stopped in his way. 

He swallowed back his sudden anger at his own inability to control his own thoughts sometimes; he tried to distract himself by scanning the crowd, eyes skittering over worn out faces and yawning mouths, while still others seemed far too alert for the late hour. 

A pale man in the corner glanced his way, back stiffening as though he recognised him, yet Chris knew they'd never seen each other before that night. Chris knew his type, however, and an involuntary snarl lifted Chris’ lip momentarily. The other man frowned; a quick curl of his own lip later and he was turning away, pointedly not looking to Chris again. Chris suddenly felt as though he’d intruded on someone else’s territory, or made an irreparable faux pas by pissing on someone else’s fence. He huffed to himself, rolled his eyes and shook his head; he studiously didn‘t look that way again until he was served. 

“Hi, I have a booking here tonight? Hemsworth, Chris Hemsworth,” he said, with a smile. 

Judging by the smile that suddenly appeared on the waitress’ face when she heard his accent, he assumed that they hadn’t had many Australians visiting the cafe. He found that hard to believe, however; he knew that London was thronging with visiting tourists of various nationalities. He’d heard plenty of foreign accents just walking through the West End alone. He thought that perhaps she just liked Australians. 

She immediately showed him to his table, which was directly beside the steak-eating man he’d noticed earlier. It seemed oddly serendipitous to Chris that the very man his attention had eerily zeroed in upon would be the very man that he’d end up sharing space with; he shrugged to himself and decided to put such thoughts out of his mind. He waited impatiently until his meal arrived, fingers drumming a constant tattoo against the tabletop. 

The man on the table beside him looked up when Chris was served, obviously taking note of the meal that he’d chosen. Chris smiled, a little embarrassed, as though he’d been caught out copying the other’s taste in meal, instead of it being a sheer coincidence. 

“That’s a good choice of meal,” his table-neighbour said. “I hope you enjoy it as much as I did.” 

“Thanks, mate,” Chris said, surprised by the man’s unexpected show of friendly conversation. “I hope so, too, especially after the day I‘ve had.” 

The man he was addressing grinned suddenly, and all traces of weariness fled from the other’s face. Chris was surprised to note that the other man had a nice smile, that reached his eyes and touched his face with warmth and friendliness. Some of the tension eased away from Chris beneath the weight of that smile, and he found himself grinning back at him. 

“Yes, tell me about it,” the other man agreed. “I’ve had a long day myself, today and tomorrow will only be longer.” 

“Oh?” Chris asked, not wishing to pry, yet having to say something so as not to appear rude. 

“Yes,” the other man said, watching as Chris forked a mouthful of steak into his mouth. “I’m performing at the Dominion Theatre in a production of Henry V; it just started tonight actually.” 

He showed the book he’d been reading to Chris, who saw the name William Shakespeare writ large in gold lettering on the leather-bound surface of the book-cover. 

“Shakespeare? Yeah, I know that fella,” Chris muttered, from around his steak. “Well, not personally, ‘cos that’d be pretty much impossible, eh?” 

 

The other man laughed, eyes crinkling at the corners as he did so. Chris found himself smiling; the other man possessed an almost evil laugh, despite his open and friendly face. 

“That would make you nearly six hundred years old. You don‘t look that old,” the other man conceded, with a nod at him. 

“Nah, mate, I’m only 29,” Chris said, laughing around his second bite of steak. 

The other man grinned, before he extended his hand towards Chris. Chris warily took it, surprised to find that the other man had a firm handshake despite his slender build.

“I’m Tom,” the newly named Tom said. “And you are?” 

“I’m Chris,” Chris said, with a smile. “So what part are you playing, anyway?”

He gestured with his fork in the direction of the book, before stabbing it into a bite of steak while Tom replied. 

“The lead role,” Tom said, looking almost embarrassed. 

“Impressive,” Chris said, nodding appreciatively, even though he wasn’t quite sure what the play was even about. 

“Thanks,” Tom said, quietly. 

Chris smiled at him, and busied himself with eating, uncertain as to what to say next; Tom didn’t speak either. Even though he wasn’t reading any more, he still fiddled awkwardly with the book, while lifting French fries to his mouth. It seemed as though he’d abandoned his steak by that point, despite the fact that there were still a few bites of it left. Chris eyed the remainder, as he ate his meal quickly, yet decided it would be rude to ask a relative stranger for their leftovers. His hunger was particularly keen that night. 

Tom set his fork down at the same time as Chris did; Chris’ plate was considerably cleaner and scrap-free in comparison to Tom’s. It seemed as though Tom picked up on Chris’ appetite, for he was smiling in an amused fashion at him. 

“You must have been hungry,” Tom said, before he grimaced slightly. “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean that to sound quite so judgemental. I don‘t usually do that to strangers.” 

“No worries, no offence taken. I’ve always been a big eater,” Chris said, with an easy shrug. “When you’ve got others vying for the same food back home, you gotta learn to eat quickly. “

Tom merely smiled, head cocked to the side as though he didn’t understand. Chris laughed at that; of course Tom wouldn’t understand. After all, they’d only just met, which meant that the other man couldn’t possibly know anything of Chris’ background or life. 

“That’s a whole other story for another time,” Chris said, lamely, uncertain as to how to follow up his previous statement. 

“Sounds intriguing,” Tom said, already turning away to slide his book back into his bag. “You make it sound as though you’re planning on seeing me again.” 

He turned a quick flash of a grin upon Chris when he gave a surprised inhalation.

“I didn’t mean that to sound so stalker-ish,” Chris said, with a worried frown. “I might be a lot of things, but I’m no stalker.” 

“I never said you were,” Tom said, voice dropping into an amused, low purr. “I’m sorry if that was the implication you took from what I said. You do make yourself sound like a bit of a bad boy, you know.” 

Chris merely grinned, before he said - “Now, that I have heard before. It depends on how you view someone like me.” 

He smirked, yet he couldn’t really convey properly his true meaning without revealing more than he really wanted to. 

“Oh, don’t worry; I’m prone to being drawn to bad boys. I find them infinitely fascinating. I might even go as far to say as studying them informs my acting,” Tom said, with a grin.

Chris couldn’t help but grin back at him; Tom really did have an infectious grin. He found himself liking Tom, despite himself and the fact that they’d only just met. He had a feeling that Tom could make a good friend and his instincts were very rarely wrong; it was how he’d survived so long, yet his survival seemed tenuous at best these days. 

“Well, that’s good, I guess,” he said. “I’d best let you get on, eh? You mentioned a busy day tomorrow.” 

“So I did,” Tom said, with a decisive nod. “Which leads me to say, if you happen to be near here tomorrow evening, you can always come to see me at the Dominion? It’s only next door.” 

Chris managed an embarrassed shrug, before he said - “Okay.”

“Not much of a theatre goer, huh?” Tom guessed, with a smile. “No matter; if you don’t like it, you can always put it down to a bad experience.” 

“I‘m sure it can‘t be all that bad,” Chris drawled, wondering to himself why Tom was even asking him to show up at the theatre.

He thought that maybe it was due to awkwardness, or pure British politeness, after a brief time spent in each other’s company. Chris wondered further at his own motives when he realized that he wondered if he should take up Tom’s offer, just out of sheer curiosity. It wasn’t every day that people invited him randomly to nights out; it wasn’t as though he couldn’t look after himself if things turned sour, after all. Usually, things turned out badly for the other person. 

“It depends on how much you like Shakespeare, I guess,” Tom said, with an easy shrug. “Just ask for me by name - Tom Hiddleston, by the way - and tell them at the foyer you’re my guest for the night. It should be no problem. They’ll let you in.” 

“Tom Hiddleston-by-the-way. I got it,” Chris said, trying to hide the sudden smirk at Tom’s suddenly surprised expression. “I’m sorry, that was a bad joke.” 

Tom merely laughed at that, before bidding him goodbye, slipping out of his side of the table before his tall and lanky frame moved out of view, through the press of bodies still populating the cafe. Chris‘ attention shifted when Tom left, tension returning to his bulky frame. He realized only then just how relaxed he’d been in Tom’s company; a first for him, in what seemed like years. He inhaled, and caught an unfamiliar scent nearby, a scent that was dangerous and somehow threatening. He snarled despite himself, a sudden surge of power threatening to push his beast out into the open before it was even time for a natural change. 

He looked up and saw the pale-faced stranger that had curled his lip at him before loitering by the side of his table. Chris feigned disinterest and idle relaxation, refusing to let the other dominate him or cow him. It wasn’t in his nature to bow to others; really, he was used to being the Alpha male in any situation, expecting others to bow submissively to him. When the other refused to move, Chris stood, allowing his greater height and build to dwarf the other man. Chris felt savage satisfaction when he forced the other to step away, almost submissively. 

“You wanted something?” Chris prompted, impatiently, almost hoping for a fight so that he could ease the tension from his own body, at least for a short while.

“There‘s no room for your type here. Your pack didn‘t want you, and we don‘t want you here,” the other man said, his voice a hissing lilt. “You might wanna give some serious consideration into leaving town, or you‘ll get what‘s coming to you.” 

“Really? Is that the best you’ve got?” Chris asked, with a weary sigh, trying not to let the other‘s words affect him. “I think it‘s gonna take more than simple threats to get me to leave. Try harder.” 

He turned away before the other could speak again, striding from the cafe and into the arms of the night. He lost himself to the rhythms and the cadences of night-breezes, winding his way through Hyde Park when he came upon it. As he raced through an arched line of trees and across the grass, he felt like sending his voice up to the stars above, exultant in night’s hunts as his sorrows and ever increasing worries were lifted from his shoulders for a time.

~~~


	2. Tom

Tom headed for the nearby train station as soon as he left Cafe Rouge for the bustle of Tottenham Court Road, mind still resting upon the blond man he’d left behind in the cafe. He wondered why he’d asked the other man to see his play; after all, he didn’t even know Chris. Tom wondered again if perhaps Chris really was the stalker he so carefully professed he wasn’t, yet as he thought on Chris’ face when Tom had revealed his name, he knew that there hadn’t been one flicker of recognition in those bright blue eyes. He didn’t think anyone could be that good a liar. He was an actor, after all; he dealt with professional liars on a daily basis.

He relaxed back into his seat, once he‘d climbed onto the train, watching the monotonous scenery outside roll past, yet still his mind dwelled with his unexpected dinner guest. Chris had seemed polite enough, his smiles and laughter genuine, yet there had been that inherent shroud of sadness and responsibility that had enveloped the other man and weighed down upon his broad shoulders as though something was too much for one man to bear. Perhaps that had been why he’d extended a hand of friendship towards the man, to try and ease the pain he could sense in Chris, even for a little while. He’d been told too often throughout his life that his heart was too kind, his overtures of friendship genuine, and his help freely given to those who needed it. 

He wondered how Chris would react to Shakespeare, whether he would become as immersed in the rhythms of complicated pentameters as Tom himself did, and whether it would make the other man equally as happy. His mind drifted, and thought of olden times, of kings that still rode on horseback and fought wars with swords instead of tanks and cannon-fire. A warm glow settled through him as his thoughts ran through the various lines he would have to recite the following evening, eyes closing as his lips formed well-loved words and sent them into the night air. For one brief moment, he forgot Chris, and those sad blue eyes; King Henry was all he could think of for a time. 

His contemplation was finally broken by the sounds of conversation taking place nearby; a couple were talking about the news that had taken London by storm in recent times. Interested despite himself, Tom listened, gaze still resting firmly upon the window, hoping that it wasn’t obvious that he was listening in. Even though they were almost drowned out by the sounds of the train itself, and conversations taking place elsewhere in their carriage, he still caught enough to know they were discussing the wolf that had been spotted roaming the streets of London. 

Reports ranged from it being a normal sized timber wolf that had escaped from London Zoo, to a seven foot tall monster that no one could explain. Tom didn’t know which tale he believed; he held the private assumption that it nothing more than an urban myth or joyful scare-mongering. No matter how viable those reports were, he knew that people were getting killed, and that the police were treating such reports as the work of a serial killer, and not the wolf that so many claimed. 

As his train finally pulled up at his station, his mind shifted to Chris again as he climbed out, readying himself for the brief walk home. Tom made a promise to himself that he would look for Chris amongst the usual theatre-goers the following evening, to see whether the Australian had accepted his offer of friendship for what it was. Tom hoped that he would be; Chris looked as though he was in bad need of a friend. 

For one brief moment, before he entered his apartment building, Tom thought he saw a large shape sitting at the end of the road, eyes boring into him as though whatever it was, was watching him. He blinked and the thing was gone; he snorted, and entered his building, putting the experience down to tiredness and too many weird conversations heard on the train home. After all, Tom knew he didn’t believe in the wolf that stalked London streets, and so, as such, couldn’t have seen that very thing watching him. 

~~~


	3. Chris

_“Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more;  
Or close the wall up with our English dead.   
In peace there's nothing so becomes a man   
As modest stillness and humility.”_

Chris watched in the audience, as Tom’s voice carried strongly over the crowd, encouraging his troops to breach the broken wall of Harfleur; for an all too brief moment, Chris could believe that the man he’d met but the evening before really was an olden time king of yesteryear, with grace and humility that such a kingly presence demanded. He watched, utterly drawn in to proceedings by Tom’s presence alone, that commanding figure that demanded respect and fealty from all, audience and onstage troops alike. 

Chris had never been one to consider himself as a Shakespeare type before, yet he’d been surprised at how easily he’d been drawn into the plot; even though he couldn’t follow all of the language, with its difficult phrasings and sometimes odd flow, he still followed most of it enough to enjoy the story. It was the first thing he’d been able to focus on in a long time, with attentions pulled every which way by the worries and stresses of his life, that forever wore upon his nerves and patience. Even now, he could feel the curse of his existence tugging at the back of his mind, forever tainting everything and wearing him down into almost madness. 

He forced himself to continue watching, the hour growing late as events played out upon the stage, of men rushing into battle and on and ever on into King Henry proving himself again and again upon the battle field, before winning the hand of Katherine, daughter to the King of France. He tried not to take note of the press of humanity surrounding him, the utter closeness of the theatre bearing down upon him; Chris could feel his own claustrophobia growing until he felt like a caged animal. He shifted in his seat, adjusted his collar time and time again; his constant fidgeting garnered himself an irritated look from the people sitting to either side of him. He apologised, until it became too embarrassing to keep doing so; instead, he tried to keep himself in check, yet he found the pursuit near on impossible. 

He was glad to find that when the play was over, he could return to the tentative safety and the comfort of the open air outside the theatre. He breathed deeply, broad chest expanding with every inhalation, scenting the fumes on the air that seemed a pertinent part of London itself; he checked the sky and saw the first full moon of the month sailing high in her star-strewn trappings. 

Chris shuddered despite himself, knowing that he did not have much time left to be himself. He could feel the moon’s song performing her magic upon him already; something stirred within him, as of a great beast unfurling and wishing to be set free. His fingers and toes flexed and contracted reflexively and he tried to squash the change down for as long as he could. 

He turned when he heard the sound of someone’s approach and a low-pitched utterance of his name in a familiar accent. Chris was smiling despite his ever growing discomfort; even without hearing Tom’s voice, Chris would have known who was approaching by the other man’s scent alone. The beast inside him curled again, threatened to spring and Chris wrestled it into submission once more. He refused to change and let his beast control him, when there were so many people around him. 

“I’m surprised you came,” Tom said, as he stopped in front of Chris, unaware of Chris‘ inner turmoil. “I didn’t think you’d be interested, to be honest.” 

“Neither did I,” Chris said. “My usual nights out are not usually so fun, I have to say. Besides, it doesn’t hurt to try something new, eh?” 

“Indeed,” Tom said, appreciatively. “I’m glad you took a chance on Shakespeare.”

This last was said with a wry little twist of his mouth as though Tom had known that Shakespeare hadn’t been Chris’ thing all along. Chris laughed at that, making Tom smile himself, with that flash of indecent mischievousness that Chris had noticed the night before. 

“Was it really that obvious?” Chris asked, with a faint grimace of embarrassment. 

“To anyone else, no,” Tom said, still smiling. “But when Shakespeare becomes a passion, like he is for me, one can tell when the fire does not burn quite so brightly in others.” 

Chris’ eyebrows rose at that.

“Did anyone ever tell you that you had a way with words?” he asked, falling into step beside Tom when the other gestured for him to do so. 

“You wouldn’t be the first to point that out, no,” Tom said, with a grin, before he sobered a little. 

“No worries, I like it. You’re more eloquent than my usual crowd,” Chris said, noticing the way that Tom’s grin had dimmed slightly 

“And your usual crowd being - “ Tom invited, with a questioning lilt to his voice, eyebrows raising slightly.

“Animals, the lot of them,” Chris said, with an ironic smirk at Tom. “They’re wolves. Literally. I work at London Zoo. I find it more a kind of hobby, than a job, ya know?” 

“Interesting hobby. It‘s good that you enjoy your work,” Tom said, sounding genuinely interested. “Any reason behind why you wanted to work with wolves?” 

“You could say it runs in the family, in a way,” Chris said, dryly. “I have a natural affinity for them and they seem to like me, in turn, so why not?” 

“Why not, indeed,” Tom replied, quietly, before he frowned. “Talking of wolves, have you heard about that wolf that’s supposed to be stalking London? Some say that it escaped from the Zoo. Is that true?” 

Chris suddenly felt as though someone had punched him in the stomach; his chest rose and fell in sudden laboured breath. He felt as though there was no air, and he wasn‘t sure whether he should fight or flee. He tried to smile, instead; he wasn’t sure how good the attempt was, yet he could see that Tom hadn’t noticed that there was anything amiss. 

“Nah, all the wolves are where they should be,” he said, surprised at how calm his voice sounded, despite the inner turmoil. “I should know; I see the fellas every day.” 

“Oh, that’s good, I guess,” Tom said, with a nod. “I did think it was a bit of fancy-making, you know? Much as I hate the idea of a serial killer stalking the streets of London, I think I’d sooner believe that than a seven foot tall wolf.” 

“Seven feet tall? That’s a bit big, isn’t it?” Chris asked, surprised, despite himself. “I’ve seen some wolves in my time, but they’re not quite that large. That’s definitely an over-exaggeration.” 

“That’s what I thought,” Tom said, with a grin, before he fell silent.

Chris also fell silent before he started feeling uncomfortable; he could feel his beast rising within him again, its power hammering at the back of his mind until he could think of nothing but the moon and the way that the wind flowed across his body as he ran, one with the night. Those shifts within him were only exacerbated by Tom's questions. His attentions became increasingly more distracted, something that Tom was quick to pick up on.

“Are you okay?” Tom asked, reaching out to lay one hand upon Chris’ shoulder.

Chris flinched away almost as though Tom had physically struck him, instead of gently applying pressure against his shoulder. His beast snarled, a sound that almost made it to his throat, yet he choked the sound down before he could give voice to it and frighten the other man. He knew he had to get Tom away from him, away to safety to protect him and save him from himself, any way that he could. He hoped that the other man wouldn’t think him rude for cutting their visit short, yet he knew that if Tom spent any more time in his presence, then the other man would be in very serious danger. Tom frowned at him, confused, yet Chris only gave him a sickly grin as recompense. 

“I’m not feeling too good all of a sudden,” Chris said, feeling as though the world was closing in upon him, heat pouring through him as his beast flexed again. “Must be something I ate at the theatre. “

“Really? Do you need to go to the hospital? I can take you there if you want,” Tom told him, gentle concern radiating from his face.

Chris’ grin that time was more genuine, brightening his face suddenly; that Tom could show concern despite his confusion meant a lot to him. He’d forgotten what it felt like to have someone watching his back; not since his time in Australia, had he felt like that. As thoughts of Melbourne rose in his mind, fresh memories rose in their wake, memories that caused him grief and pain. He slammed the door upon them, forcing himself to think of anything other than that which had driven him from his home. 

“Thank you, but no. I’m sure I’ll be able to sleep it off,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck with one large hand uncomfortably. “When I get home that is. Not here.” 

“I guess. If you’re sure,” Tom said, but he didn’t sound convinced.

Chris could hardly blame him; he knew he was being evasive and Tom was not a stupid man, clearly. Tom could read between the lines seemingly better than anyone else could, and Chris could already tell the other man was perceptive in a way that most people weren’t; Chris was glad when Tom used that perceptiveness to not press further. That he was clearly still worried, even a little dubious, was inherent by the way that Tom continued staring at him. 

“Trust me, I’m fine, or I will be,” Chris assured him, and he wondered if it was more for his own peace of mind than Tom’s. “It usually passes off, given time.” 

Tom merely huffed out a meaningless sound, yet didn’t take his eyes from Chris. He also didn’t say anything further, and Chris could see by the look in the other man’s clear blue gaze that Tom was uncertain as to even what to say next. He decided to help the other man out a little. 

“I should call you a cab,” Chris said, by way of changing the subject.

“Most people usually call me Tom or Mr Hiddleston, never a cab,” Tom said, a slight smirk pulling at the corners of his thin lips, eyes sparkling in the light of the moon. “Or Thomas, if you’re my mother and even then only if I’ve done something wrong.” 

Chris stared at him for a few moments, before he burst into loud laughter; Tom grinned himself, but didn’t laugh outright, himself. 

“I guess I asked for that one, eh?” Chris asked, with a sigh. 

“Well, it made you laugh,” Tom said, with a shrug as though that was all that mattered. 

Chris supposed that it was, and he was grateful for the other man for even trying. He reached out and clapped Tom on the shoulder, surprising the other man with his greater strength that had nothing to do with his broader frame and everything to do with his beast inside. 

“Seriously let me call you a cab,” Chris said. “It’s getting late; you don’t want to be out after midnight.” 

“No? Are your shoes going to turn into glass slippers?” Tom asked.

“Ah, hell no, I’m far from being anyone’s Cinderella,” Chris snorted. “Wrong fairy tale. I’m more like the Big Bad Wolf.” 

Tom merely hummed, staring at Chris with a confused frown. Chris knew it wasn’t the first time he’d spoken in riddles to Tom; that Tom was often confused by him was obvious. He wondered if Tom thought him strange, yet he knew that that was no unfamiliar feeling. Most people seemed to think that way about him, after a while.

“Your cab,” Chris said, as he gestured towards a payphone nearby. “Seriously, let me call you one. It‘s better to be safe; you know there‘s a killer on the loose.” 

“No, you’re okay, Chris. I usually get on the train,” Tom replied, as he pointed to Tottenham Court Road Station, nearby. “I live close by, in Westminster, actually. I‘m sure I‘ll be safe enough. How far have you got to travel? Aren‘t you worried about being attacked?” 

Chris nodded, before he said - “Nah. I live in Hackney. There‘s not much that could harm or scare me; I‘ll be fine.” 

Tom nodded himself, still staring at Chris a little strangely. Chris turned away, hyper-aware of the way that Tom’s gaze rested upon the back of his neck. He felt his hackles rising, teeth bared in an impulsive growl, yet he reigned himself in. Though the silence that had fallen over them was largely companionable, Chris could feel the easy familiarity they’d fallen in to slipping away by increments. He mentally cursed himself for ruining everything, even though he’d only really known Tom for two days. Tom, to break that silence, smiled at Chris with something like his usual bright friendliness.

“I’d best get off, or I’ll miss my train. Hey, perhaps I’ll see you in the cafe again sometime. I’m there most nights after my show, sometimes before,” he said.

“Okay. Maybe I’ll see you there,” Chris said, with a noncommittal nod.

That time, Tim didn’t seem to notice his hesitancy, too busy turning his attentions to the station. Tom gave Chris a salute of goodbye before he walked away. Chris lifted his hand in a lazy wave, even though he suspected the other man didn’t see him do so. Once he knew that Tom had disappeared within the depths of the station, he turned and made his way to Hackney.

Unlike Tom, he didn’t need the comforts of a train to take him where he wanted to go; instead, he preferred to feel the night air upon him, the sense of freedom he had from being one with the night, feet pounding against pavements and parks alike, stars and moon reeling above his head giving him the sense of flight he could never truly have. Chris let himself become abandoned, soon forgetting the loneliness and madness of his life; he found himself falling into the animalistic familiarity of what he truly was, something that he never could reveal to someone who wasn’t like him.

He padded through the streets, and the scents of the River Thames assailed his senses, threatening to drown out the now-familiar scent of Tom. Even though he knew now where Tom lived, after following the other man’s scent the night before, he still felt a little lost and uncertain amongst the unfamiliar streets; he’d never been to either Westminster or along the Embankment before the previous night. He arrived in time to see Tom walking up to his apartment building, and he waited, just to make sure that Tom was safe.

Like the night before, Tom looked up and seemed to see him; their eyes met, yet Chris could not detect the fear that others would have felt in his place. Instead, he could sense Tom’s curiosity and disbelief, yet no fear. Then the moment was broken and Tom disappeared inside. Chris waited for a few more moments, before he turned tail and retreated, needing to feed his insatiable hunger for another night.

~~~


	4. Tom

Tom didn’t think he would see Chris again, considering the troubled way that Chris had acted the night before. Tom found himself musing upon the other man throughout the day, wondering if Chris was alright, whether he’d gotten over his sudden and inexplicable sickness. Tom had to admit that Chris hadn’t looked well, too antsy, too sweaty, too itchy under the collar as though his clothes felt unnatural and too tight against him. Tom shook his head on more than one occasion; Chris seemed to him to be a riddle wrapped in an enigma, yet he was obviously crying out for help or for friendship or perhaps both. 

He was alone again in Cafe Rouge the following night, and was surprised when he felt a faint brush of a hand against his shoulder, before a familiar, yet hesitant Australian accent mumbled nearby, as though Chris was fearful of being a nuisance. Tom looked up from his book - The Tempest that time - and smiled sunnily into Chris’ hesitant face. The smile he received in turn was surprisingly warm, as though Chris’ fears of being an intrusion had been washed away. 

“I’m not interrupting, am I?” Chris asked again, and Tom realized that that was what he’d mumbled before when he’d been engrossed in his book. “I managed to snag a cancellation, but seeing as you’re here - “

“No, you‘re not interrupting,” Tom said, as he moved his bag from the empty chair beside him, and gestured for Chris to be seated.

“Thanks, mate,” Chris said, as he settled heavily beside Tom. 

Tom nodded vaguely, and watched Chris; the other man looked distinctly uncomfortable again, hands twining nervously before him as though he couldn’t keep still. 

“Are you okay?” Tom asked, taking in the way that Chris cast his gaze about the crowds as though he felt trapped or stifled by them.

Tom realized that he’d noticed that before about the other man, as though Chris didn’t like crowds; he’d calmed a little the previous night when they hadn’t been so surrounded. He was about to comment upon it when Chris spoke.

“I’m fine, now,” he said, and Tom wondered if Chris was lying. 

Chris didn’t look fine to him. 

“Are you sure? Because if you’re in trouble, I can try to help,” Tom offered, and Chris looked so surprised, it made Tom frown.

It was almost as if Chris wasn’t used to offers of help, or whether he didn’t have that comfort in his life too often. Tom supposed that he didn’t; Tom himself was never far from his own family, his parents, his sisters and nieces and extended family. Chris, meanwhile, was a long way from home. 

“Thanks, but I don’t think you can help me,” Chris said, visibly wincing as though he hadn’t meant to reveal that much.

Tom hummed, eyes narrowed as though he could see straight inside Chris’ head, to peel apart the enigma of everything Chris wasn’t saying to get straight to the root of the problem. Of course, it didn’t work, it never did, yet it didn’t stop Tom from trying. 

“Did you get home safely last night?” Chris asked, as though in desperate need of shifting the conversation away from himself. “Obviously you did, or you wouldn't be here, eh?” 

He grinned at that, yet it wasn’t his usual grin of nervous friendliness. 

“Quite,” Tom said, with a polite smile, but said nothing more. 

“So, um, how was your play tonight?” Chris asked next. “Did it go well?” 

“The play itself went well, it was the audience that was less than stellar,” Tom admitted, reluctantly. “What can you do? That’s the travails of an actor; sometimes you’re just faced with an incredibly hard audience.” 

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Chris said,. as though that really mattered to him.

Tom shrugged, before he said - “C’est la vie; it‘s something you just have to get used to in my line of work. How were the wolves?” 

“Ah, you know. Some were fractious, while still others were as playful as puppies,” Chris said, face brightening at the mention of his beloved wolves. “It happens.” 

Tom smiled at that, glad to see a little happiness leaking back into Chris’ bright blue eyes. He watched as Chris turned to run his gaze over the cafe, as though the other man was searching for something. 

“I’ll be back in a minute. My food‘s probably ready, and I‘m not at my table. I‘d best tell ‘em I‘m over here or I‘ll never get served. I‘m fair starved,” he said.

Tom nodded, silently, watching with concerned interest as Chris’ face darkened again, eyes veiled with weary fatalism. Tom frowned, yet kept his tongue, too wary of upsetting Chris by enquiring further. He reminded himself that he hardly knew the man; he didn’t know how far he could push to get Chris to talk about what was so obviously bothering him. 

Chris stood, large frame blocking the light from behind him and casting Tom into shadow. He took one step away from the table, yet got no further. Tom heard an unfamiliar voice assailing the other man, addressing him as though he knew him. 

“I thought I told you to leave town,” the newcomer said.

Tom frowned, uncertain as to what was going on.

~~~


	5. Chris

Chris glared at the pale-faced man who’d openly sneered at him the previous evening, surprised that once again he had the audacity to threaten him. Chris could feel the tension boiling through him, large hands balling into fists at his sides. Chris’ nostrils flared and an ominous growl leaked past Chris’ lips, rumbling in his chest. His beast was threatening to rise up and strike in full view of everyone in the cafe; he knew he couldn’t risk that and endanger those who were innocent. 

“This is as much my territory as it is yours. In fact, I thought you guys kept to the Underground,” Chris said, to the man. “You have no right to try and run me out of town. You’re not even like me; you can‘t dictate to me.” 

“Well, Dominic wants you out and you don‘t argue with the head vampire, you know? We have no use for loners, here; you know what happens to abandoned Alphas. We can‘t risk it,” the other man said, gaze slithering over to Tom. “Is this human yours?” 

“Why?” Chris asked, baldly. 

“Don’t drag him into this mess if you know what’s good for you,” the man said. 

“He won‘t be dragged into it; I‘m trying to protect him,” Chris said, growl leaking past his lips again and deepening his voice, leaning a little further into the vampire‘s personal space.


	6. Tom

“Easy, Chris,” Tom said, finally, standing to lay one hand upon Chris’ shoulder to calm him. “Let’s just take this outside, huh? People are starting to stare, somewhat.” 

“Fine,” Chris snapped, angrily. “I didn’t want the food here, anyway.” 

Tom’s eyebrows rose, yet he markedly remained silent; Chris turned away and jerked his chin at the man nearby.

“You’d best stay away from me, if you know what’s good for you,” he growled. 

The man shrugged as though that meant little to him. The man turned his gaze to Tom, then, before he smiled a close-lipped smile at him. 

“You’d best watch your step around him. He’s not what you think he is. He can only bring you trouble,” he said. 

“Highly unlikely,” Tom said, with a baffled frown, wondering just what the hell was going on. 

He shrugged and followed Chris through the crowds, not wanting to stay where he was, and not certain that he even wanted to follow Chris either. At least, with Chris, he might get some answers. He caught up with the other man outside, who stood alone by the side of the street, staring up at the moon sailing high overhead. Chris half turned when he realized Tom was standing beside him; the full moon seemed to have had an adverse effect on him, and consumed all of his attention. 

“It doesn’t matter where I go, the moon’s always the same,” he said, quietly, more to himself than to Tom. 

Tom didn’t know what to say to that; it seemed yet another of Chris’ endless enigmas. Right then,. he’d decided he’d had enough of them. 

“Do you want to tell me what that was all about in there, Chris?” he asked, raising one thumb to jab it viciously over his shoulder. “Quite frankly, I’m getting more than a little ticked off about not knowing what the devil’s going on.” 

Chris stared at him, nostrils flaring as though he scented something bad or good, Tom wasn’t sure. Finally, the tension left Chris’ shoulders, leaving him a weary man instead in its place. 

“You don’t want to know,” Chris said, finally.

“From the sounds of things, I’m about to be dragged into something I know nothing about. He said there‘s going to be trouble if you stay in town. I think I’d like to know what’s going on, before I get any more involved,” Tom said. “I’ve already offered my help and the offer still stands.” 

“That’s the point, you can’t help. None of you can. There’s only us,” Chris said, yet that did little to explain anything to Tom. 

“You know what? I’ve just about had enough of this. You keep hinting at things, yet never explain what you mean, now there’s some kind of trouble I know nothing about but might still get caught up in, and strange men are calling me human like it’s something base and disgusting. Oh, and I also heard something about a head vampire called Dominic. Vampires? Seriously? Are they even real? If they are, then what the devil does that make you? Are you not even human or something?” Tom said, voice rising as he glared at Chris. “I really am starting to feel like everything’s gone to pot, ruin and madness around my ears.” 

Chris blinked at Tom, and tried to ignore the stares from around them. He opened his mouth, yet didn’t get the chance too speak further; Tom made a disgusted sound and turned away, to stride off through the streets of London.

“Tom,” Chris yelled after him, yet Tom didn’t turn around. “Tom, mate, wait. It’s not safe for you.”

~~~


	7. Chris

Tom either didn’t hear or wasn’t listening; Chris wasn’t sure which it was, yet he knew, in the deepest part of his gut, that he couldn’t let Tom get away. He could feel trouble following in the other man’s wake, danger boiling against his skin, and he knew that there was only him that stood between Tom and trouble. He growled again, and followed in Tom’s wake. Chris stopped at the end of the road, gaze swinging from left to right, yet he could see nothing of the other man anywhere. Tom should have been easy to spot; his tall, lanky frame towered over most people.

“Damn you, Tom,” Chris mumbled to himself. “Bloody humans.” 

He snorted to himself, yet that niggling doubt that Tom was in danger wouldn’t leave him be. He closed his eyes, centred himself and raised his nose to the winds, deciding to try and track Tom the old fashioned way.

~~~


	8. Tom

Tom strode through the streets, boots making an angry cadence against the pavements, as beside him, London’s traffic trundled past. Red buses chugged in amongst the black cabs and irately driven standard cars, yet Tom paid them little mind. He was too angry, too invested in his own thoughts to pay attention to that which he usually found soothing. He’d even been too angry to check where he was going; usually, he would have headed for the nearby train station, taking the Northern Line to the Embankment, where he usually disembarked to walk the rest of the way home. That night was different; anger had informed his steps away from the station and down Tottenham Court Road instead, anywhere other than to stay within reach of Chris and his enigmas. 

He turned down another street, without even checking to see where he was going, head down, brows glowering over angry blue eyes. He’d had enough of enigmatic men, who injected mystery and misery into his life when all he’d done was try to show compassion and friendship towards them. 

It was only when he’d returned to Covent Garden again, that he realized just how quiet it had gotten; the paved lines of Covent Garden itself were eerily deserted, ringing with the sounds of his footsteps. He stopped, arched walkways rising high above his head, eyes dodging all about him as he took in the deserted surrounds of Apple Market. 

He heard footsteps nearby, starting suddenly, sounding sonorously through he arches and walkways, yet Tom himself couldn't pinpoint where exactly it was coming from. He turned, and came face to face with the very man who’d threatened Chris in the cafe earlier. The man was all out grinning at him, now, teeth exposed to the light; Tom couldn’t help but notice that the man’s incisors were longer than they should have been; the only word that sprung to Tom’s mind was - vampire. That which he had previously mocked as madness seemed very real to him all of a sudden. 

“You should have listened to me at the cafe, human,” he hissed, tongue tracing patterns against the points of his fangs. “You should have done well to stay well clear of the Alpha you’ve been hanging around.” 

“Oh, I’ve just about had my fill of everything Chris related, mark my words,” Tom said, trying not to show fear in the face of the vampire. “I’m staying well out of this mysterious trouble of yours.” 

“It’s too late; you’ve already been marked out as collateral damage,” the man said, laughing as Tom turned away. “At least you’d be pretty collateral damage. Your Alpha male sure has good taste.” 

Tom stiffened and didn’t turn around; instead, he kept walking, praying that his feet wouldn’t betray him by breaking into the run he so desperately craved. He turned towards the Station once he’d attained the safety of the outside air, its familiar red brick facade only a dim reminder of the impressive shade it was during the daytime. The vampire was already there, leaning up against the doorway, the Underground sign hanging above his head. 

Tom stood where he was, wondering whether he could make a break for it and still be able to get past the vampire before he struck out at him. The sudden urge to shout out - Don’t try anything funny, I know Kung Fu - flashed through his mind, yet he steadfastly kept his tongue where it rested. Making empty threats would do him no good, he knew, especially when it came down to a fight, and he would have no skills to back up his martial artistry claims. 

He blinked, and in an instant, the vampire was directly in front of him again, the breeze of his passage fanning cool air against Tom’s cheek. That time, Tom did flinch, stepping away as the vampire leant in still further to inhale sharply at Tom’s neck. He tried to step back still further, to separate himself from the vampire’s personal space, yet the other moved so fast, Tom was held in a vicelike grip before he could even bat an eyelid. 

“This is going to be so much fun, to take one of the wolf’s bitches,” the vampire said, before he leant in still further, mouth gaping.

Tom could feel his cool breath against his cheek as he tried to twist, to squirm, to struggle away, yet it was all to no avail. The vampire was too strong. He felt the vampire’s fangs kissing his throat, sharp pinpricks of grazing pain, before a loud thump and growl took the vampire away from him, and he stood alone.

He was surrounded by the watchful empty gazes of Covent Garden buildings, yet the ancient surrounds held little interest for him now. What Tom was looking at seemed so ghastly beautiful, yet ultimately unbelievable. If he didn’t still feel the pain of the vampire’s fangs against his throat, he would have said he’d dreamt the whole thing. Even now he was half convinced he was asleep at home in his bed, and the graze of fangs against skin had been ultimately part of a particularly lucid nightmare. 

A sharp growl and even sharper yelping bark drew his attention back to the fight; Tom blinked, saw a bushy tail whipping at the air, as the giant wolf that had pushed that vampire from him, fought with everything he had. Even from where he was standing, he could see that the wolf was like no wolf he’d ever seen before, sandy where its fur should have been grey. The wolf’s build was stockier than most wolves, and far larger than any wolf Tom had ever seen before; it easily could have come up to his armpit if it deigned to stand close to him. A flash of bright blue eyes in the moonlight rooted Tom to the spot - those eyes looked so familiar to him, almost a perfect match for Chris’ eyes, if they hadn’t been surrounded by a face full of sandy fur and a mouth filled with too sharp teeth. 

The vampire was losing, fangs flashing in the light as he bit and clawed at the wolf, raising reddened welts and matting the wolf’s fur with blood. Tom thought about running again, yet the ultimate belief that he knew the wolf and couldn’t escape either wolf or vampire bothered him. He didn't like to admit that he was too scared to, not even to himself. 

With one final push, the wolf dove in, great jaws clamping about the vampire’s throat, before one sharp twist of his head and an even sharper crack filled the air, and the fight went out of the vampire. The head rolled away, to shore up against the wall of the railway station. Tom watched with fascinated horror as the wolf fell on its side, great sides heaving with exertion and weariness; Tom didn’t have to be a vet to see that the wolf was seriously hurt. He made his way tentatively over to it, half expecting it to attack him, yet the wolf remained laying there, as though too weary to move.

Tom squatted by the wolf, as the great beast turned its head, bright blue eyes shining up at him by the light of the moon; Tom found himself transfixed by those eyes, as familiarity rocketed through him. If he’d thought he’d imagined it before, he now knew without a doubt just who he was looking at; only Chris had eyes as bright a blue as that wolf had. Chris Hemsworth was a werewolf. 

“Chris?” he asked, reaching out one hand to hover above the wolf’s heaving flank.

His only response was a whine and Chris’ head thunked down upon the pavement. Tom took that as a yes. 

“Is this your great secret?” Tom asked. “What am I saying? Of course it is. And I’m talking to a werewolf as though this sort of thing happens every day. I think I‘ve taken leave of my senses.”

Chris huffed, and it sounded almost to Tom’s ears as though the wolf was laughing at him, despite the pain that wracked him. 

“Yes, you can laugh, Chris,” Tom said, despite himself. “I might be mad, but at least I’m not hurt.”

Chris whined again; Tom leant closer, uncertain whether he was even allowed to touch the wolf stretched out upon the pavement. When Chris made no move to attack him, Tom grew bolder, reaching hands out to skim gently over Chris’ fur. Chris was hotter than he’d expected, fur so much softer than it looked; Chris still didn’t move, allowing Tom to touch him and explore the unfamiliar lines of an equally unfamiliar body. 

Tom had to admit that the sensations of fur and muscle beneath his hands weren’t unpleasant; in fact, it was quite the opposite. Tom had to smile when Chris quietened beneath his touch, as though the wolf enjoyed the touch and the attention. That alone proved that no matter the appearance, Chris was far from the beastly monster that the stories painted werewolves to be; instead, he seemed to be nothing more than an over-sized, overly powerful dog, or at least he acted that way with Tom. 

“I don’t know whether to take you to the vet’s or the hospital,” Tom muttered, as he passed his hands over Chris’ heaving flank. “That vampire really did a number on you, didn’t he? Easy now, I’m not going to hurt you. You know that right?” 

That last was directed to Chris as he growled when Tom pressed too hard upon a gaping wound inadvertently. That growl eased into an apologetic whine, yet Chris still felt tense beneath Tom’s hands. He couldn’t believe that this beast was even real, yet the sleek muscles and soft fur beneath his palms felt very real indeed. He ran his hands over Chris‘ shoulders and felt the power constrained within them, as he checked to see how much damage had been done. His hand dipped too close and too hard upon a particularly deep gash upon Chris’ shoulder, and Chris snarled and finally struck, teeth snagging deep into Tom’s shoulder. Tom cried out in pain, and Chris immediately let go, tongue laving at Tom’s wound and moving to his face, with an apologetic whine, as though trying to soothe him. Tom struggled away from Chris’ touch, yanking down his jacket, grimacing at the way that his shirt was rent and torn, bloodied at the edges of the serrated tear. 

“Look what you’ve done to me, you - “ and Tom’s voice trailed off, as a thought suddenly struck him. 

Already he’d seen things that night that he’d considered impossible, vampires that walked the night streets and werewolves that changed at the sight of a full moon. He’d felt a vampire’s breath and fangs against his throat and felt a werewolf’s fur beneath his hands. Even though he’d felt the evidence against him,, still his mind rejected that which he knew was true; if he allowed himself to believe it, then what they said about werewolves, and a werewolf’s bite must also be true. 

“Oh shit, I’m going to change, aren’t I?” Tom said, aloud, despite himself. 

Chris only whined again, backing away to stare at Tom with sorrowful eyes. 

“Jesus Christ, Chris; it’s true, isn’t it? I’m going to change into something like you,” he said, as Chris laid his head in Tom’s lap, still whining apologetically and staring up at Tom with sorrowful eyes. 

With the weight of Chris’ head in his lap, Tom couldn’t get away; he was trapped there, sitting alone in the middle of Covent Garden with a werewolf laying his lap. The situation was so preposterous, he almost laughed, yet he didn’t; instead, his hands moved of their own accord, stroking between Chris’ ears, petting him as though he was nothing more than a very large dog. Tom forced himself to think of Chris as a dog; he found that easier to deal with at the moment than facing the very real problem of potentially changing himself at the next full moon. 

Chris huffed out a warm breath against Tom’s stomach, tail wagging slightly at the way that Tom was stroking him; Tom huffed out a breath himself, thinking to himself just how weird his life had gotten suddenly. 

“You didn't mean to do it, did you?” Tom asked, and Chris growled out a noise that was almost a no. “No, of course, you didn’t. Isn’t that what wounded animals do? Strike out when they’re in pain?” 

Chris growled again, but Tom wasn’t sure what the other meant that time. 

“Perhaps I should take you home, get those wounds looked at,” Tom said, absent-mindedly, hands still stroking at Chris’ head. “I can’t risk having you changing back in the vet’s and I can’t take a massive wolf into the hospital. They’d never let me through the doors.” 

Chris made a huffing noise that Tom presumed was a laugh, again. 

“Good job I like dogs,” Tom muttered to himself. “Come on, let’s get you back to my place. It‘s too late to catch a train, now; I‘ll have to call a taxi.” 

Chris climbed to his feet slowly, finally allowing Tom to move. Tom saw that his original estimation of Chris’ size wasn’t so far off; the wolf came a little under his armpit. Memories of the wolf that had been reportedly seen around London rose in his mind once more, followed by Chris’ scoffs regarding the size of it. Although Chris was not the seven foot tall monster that had been reported, he still wasn’t far off, the tips of his ears just topping five feet high with change. Chris’ tongue lolled suddenly and a questioning whine leaked past the werewolf’s lips; Tom had to smile at that. Suddenly he felt safe in the other’s presence, instead of frightened as others would have been in his place; somehow he knew the wolf would not harm him. 

“I’m safe with you, right?” he asked, and there was no incrimination in his voice at all.

Chris huffed out a wolf laugh and rested his muzzle against Tom’s stomach, breath hot and huffing against his abdomen. When Chris made no move to bite him or possibly disembowel him, Tom laughed and placed both hands upon Chris’ massive head. 

“I’m safe. Besides, I guess you did almost get yourself killed for me, just now,” Tom said. “Silly goose.” 

Chris huffed out another laugh, and Tom chuckled himself, before he spoke again.

“How on earth am I going to get you in the taxi, anyway?” he asked, helplessly.

Again, Chris made that odd huffing laugh of his, before he growled out something that sounded like - meet you home. Tom nodded, and watched as Chris bounded away, nose turned in the direction of Westminster. 

“Fine, I’ll meet you there,” Tom called after him and received nothing more than an answering howl. 

He turned to call a cab, before a thought struck him suddenly. 

“Ho won earth did you even know where I lived?” he asked, aloud, even though Chris had long since gone.

~~~


	9. Chris

Chris stopped once he knew that Tom was out of view; he looped back into Covent Garden, dragging the abandoned body of the vampire into a mostly empty rubbish bin, standing at the edge of the marketplace. He picked up the head from outside the train station and loped off in the direction of Tom’s apartment. Even with the extra time it took to dispose of the body, he still reached Tom’s place before the other man did; he was sitting outside, shivering in the cold without fur or clothes to protect him from the cold night air. Tom stopped once the taxi had driven away, keys already dangling from his hand; Chris merely grinned at him, embarrassment turning his face red for an instant. 

“Well, this is unexpectedly awkward,” Tom, said, as he strode past Chris. “I don’t know what’s worse; trying to explain a giant dog away or why I’m suddenly accompanied by a naked Australian.” 

Chris huffed out a laugh at that, a noise that was strangely reminiscent of the laugh he’d given while in his wolf form. Tom sighed and took off his jacket, holding it out to Chris with one hand. 

“I’m sorry that I can’t do much else for you right now, but it’s all I’ve currently got. Try and cover yourself up a bit and pray to God and all that’s holy that we don’t meet any of my neighbours,” Tom said, a grin suddenly tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I’ll get you something better once we’re inside.” 

“Thanks, mate; it’s much appreciated,” Chris said, as he stood and tried his best to wrap the jacket around his waist. 

Tom had pointedly turned away when Chris began to stand, only turning back again when Chris announced he was a bit more decent. Still, Chris knew he looked as ridiculous as he felt; it wasn’t every day he walked around with someone else’s jacket around his waist, yet he knew that was preferable to the alternative. Tom gestured for him to follow and Chris did so, bare feet slapping against the tiled floor inside, until they reached a carpeted area leading up to Tom’s doorway. Chris knew that it was the other man’s apartment even before Tom announced it; his keen nose detected Tom’s scent over everything, even through the wooden barrier of the locked door. 

Tom looked surprised when Chris automatically stopped outside the right door, but didn’t question it; instead, he opened the door, and Chris followed him inside. Tom bade Chris sit in the living area, while he sorted out some clothing for him, tall body moving confidently through his apartment to what Chris assumed must be the other man‘s bedroom. He returned a few minutes later, arms filled with an assortment of clothing. 

“These might not be your size, because, let’s be honest, you are bigger than me,” Tom said, with an embarrassed grin at the other man. “Just do what you can; I did bring my baggiest things.” 

“Thank you,” Chris said, with genuine gratitude. 

“How’s your wounds? Oh,” Tom said, stopping himself short when he saw that the wounds that had once liberally peppered Chris’ back and neck were all but healed now. “You seem to be healed.” 

“That’s one of the perks of being a werewolf, I guess, eh?” Chris said, with an embarrassed lift to his shoulders. “One of only a few.” 

“Now you’re being enigmatic again. You’re going to have to work on that, considering I now know what you are,” Tom said, severely. 

Chris looked up at Tom, and almost argued against it; he sighed beneath Tom’s severe frown when he realized that the other man was right. 

“Okay, mate,” he said, quietly. “Fair‘s fair and all that. I ought to tell you something.” 

“Good. Now, I’m going to tend to my wound, then I’m going to make some hot chocolate. You can join me in the kitchen when you’re ready, if you wish,” Tom said, as he turned away.

“I’m sorry about biting you earlier,” Chris called to him, as Tom began walking away. 

Tom merely nodded and threw a meaningless noise over his shoulder, that Chris didn’t know how to interpret. He sighed, and stood when he was certain that he was alone; he began trying on the clothes that Tom had thoughtfully brought. He managed, finally, to fit into a pair of shockingly lurid bright pink board shorts, and a more sensible black t shirt. While the shirt was undoubtedly loose on Tom, it was snug against Chris’ broader frame; once again, Chris knew better than to complain and to not question looking into the mouths of gift horses when they were presented to him.


	10. Tom

Tom winced in pain as he dabbed antiseptic cream into the wound upon his shoulder. Even though the bite hadn’t been a deep one, it hurt him still and had bled profusely considering it must have been but a nip, given the size of Chris’ jaws while in werewolf form. He sighed, still not trying to think too much on what could potentially happen to him the following night; instead, he busied his mind and fingers with the application of gauze, bandage and sticking tape, until the bites had been sufficiently covered over. 

He turned and left the bathroom once he’d finished, heading towards the kitchen; Chris was already waiting inside, seated at the table and obviously feeling a little uncomfortable and out of place. Tom grinned at him, and saw some of the tension fade from Chris’ face and shoulders at Tom’s continued friendliness; he chatted aimlessly while he fixed them both some hot chocolate, finally placing two steaming mugs upon the kitchen table. Chris looked grateful for the drink, yet accepted some biscuits to go with it. Tom noted the look of amusement that flitted across the other man’s face when he revealed that he had a weakness for chocolate and puddings. That look of amusement was soon swallowed by a darker look, as Chris’ thoughts turned inwards again; the other man was undoubtedly thinking on where to start with his explanations, Tom decided.

~~~


	11. Chris

The light seemed too harsh in Tom’s kitchen, bright yellowish light washing down over the wooden surface of the kitchen table. Tom’s long fingers were wrapped around the highly decorated surface of his mug, steaming hot chocolate sending tendrils of steam up into the air. Chris took a sip of his own mug, yet he had little appetite for anything that night. He could still taste Tom's blood in his mouth from where he’d bitten him, brief though that bite had been; the chocolate he’d drunk and the biscuits he’d eaten didn’t seem enough to wash that coppery tang away. Despite the fact that he’d bitten someone he now was starting to consider his friend, he liked the taste of his blood, a thought that brought him no end of shame; Chris found it a struggle to even meet Tom’s gaze, even though the other man couldn't have known what he was thinking. 

“So,” Tom said, finally bringing his chocolate to his lips and sipping it tentatively.

Chris raised his gaze long enough to note that Tom didn’t seem to be enjoying his drink either; his expression was a bland one, instead of one of enjoyment as it should have been considering the other man’s self confessed love of chocolate and puddings. 

“So,” Chris replied, feeling a little uncomfortable beneath Tom’s calculating scrutiny. 

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on?” Tom asked, raising one hand to tap his wound with one long finger. 

“I don't know where to start,” Chris confessed, with a slight lift to his broad shoulders and an embarrassed smile. 

“How about we start with how you knew where I lived?” Tom said, with a smile. “I thought you once told me you weren’t a stalker.” 

Chris gaped a little at that, before he smiled.

“You have a good memory,” he finally said, mentally adding - for a human. “I did say that, and it still rings true. I just have a good nose. I followed your scent.” 

“On the train? You really must have a good nose,” Tom said, as he stared at Chris’ nose, as though he expected it to grow larger or impart secrets about its sensitivity. 

Chris suddenly felt self conscious and barely resisted the urge to cover his nose with his hand. Tom realized he'd been staring; he raised his eyes to Chris, with a grin.

“I’m a werewolf. I can just about track anything, if I know what to sniff for,” Chris finally said, with a shrug. 

“I don’t know whether I should be offended or not, to be honest. It’s like an underhanded insult, telling me I smell,” Tom said, with a chuckle that let Chris know he wasn’t offended. 

“You’re human. All humans smell,” Chris said, with a snort. “Except you smell nicer than most, if that’s any consolation.” 

“It is, thank you,” Tom replied, feigning relief. 

They fell silent, for a while and Chris watched as Tom fidgeted, obviously wrestling with something he felt he couldn’t ask.

“You may as well ask, whatever it is you‘ve got your mind on,” Chris said, with a sigh.

“Are you behind those recent murders?” Tom asked, gaze immediately riveted upon the tabletop. 

“Some of them,” Chris admitted, slowly and shrugged when Tom gave him a shocked look. “What? I have to eat. That’s why people call werewolves monsters, Tom.” 

“You’re not,” Tom immediately said. “You didn’t eat me.” 

“No,” Chris said, without dropping his gaze. “I didn’t.” 

Tom fell silent then, before he said - “You did bite me, however.” 

“Does it hurt?” Chris asked, wincing in genuine sympathy.

Tom seemed to take time thinking about it, giving it his consideration before he smiled, his first since entering the apartment. 

“No,” he said, with a sigh. “It doesn’t any more. Is it enough to turn me?” 

“I don‘t know,” Chris said, thoughtfully.

“You don‘t?” Tom asked, in surprise. “Have you never turned anyone before?” 

“No. You‘re my first, if you turn, that is,” Chris said, slowly, dropping his gaze to the tabletop in embarrassment. “Besides, my wounds were more serious than yours, when I was turned.” 

“Okay, that‘s a rather dubious honour, I guess. What about your pack? How were they turned?” Tom asked. “I feel awkward even asking, but it’s something I kind of really want to know, considering.” 

“Understandable,” Chris said, slowly. “Most of them were born this way.” 

He pointed to himself, and grimaced. 

“The ones who were turned also sustained greater injuries than you did,” Chris said. “I barely even gave you a scratch. You may be lucky. ”

“But then again I may not,” Tom said, grimly.

“Maybe not,” Chris replied, before falling silent again. 

“And what of your pack now? What happened to them? Are they still in Australia?” Tom asked, as he took another sip of his chocolate. 

“No. They’re all dead,” Chris said, with such finality, that Tom shifted uncomfortably.

“I’m sorry, Chris, I didn’t know,” Tom said, quietly, to which Chris merely waved away his apology. 

“I guess you’ll wanna know what happened now, eh?” Chris asked, his voice rising at the end with his question. 

“Not if you don’t wish to tell me,” Tom said, diplomatically. “More chocolate?” 

Chris looked down at his cup, surprised to find that it was almost gone. He nodded and smiled appreciatively, deciding that he needed something with which to distract himself while he was talking. Tom nodded in turn and poured out another hot chocolate, chasing that up with another biscuit he pulled from a tin on the side. Chris nodded out his thanks and played with the biscuit before taking the plunge and ripping a bite out of it. Tom was waiting patiently for him and it was only then that he realized he hadn’t as yet said anything. 

“They were massacred, by vampires,” Chris said, finally, slowly, feeling as though even that scant admission had cost him.

“Ah,” Tom said, looking uncomfortable still.

“Ya see, vampires and werewolves don’t get along; you could say we see each other as enemies. Why, I don’t know. Just feel like I'm fighting some war that no one’s bothered to explain to me. We’re constantly fighting over territory, food, anything; you name it, we’ll find a way to fight about it. The thing is, in Australia, there should have been enough room for everyone, yet that didn’t save my pack,” Chris said. “I was hunting in the Bush, and when I came home, the whole pack was slaughtered; vampires were trying to take over Melbourne and we were in their way. I was their Alpha, their leader; I should have been there to fight for them.” 

Tom reached out for him and laid one hand upon Chris’ forearm; he didn’t speak yet his sympathy hung between them anyway. Chris gave him a tight smile and continued.

“After that, I had no reason to stay there. I didn’t want to anymore; the memories were too painful. So I applied to come over here. It took a while to get my visa, but I think my degree in zoology helped. I put on my application I wanted to work in a zoo and I managed to get myself a job in London Zoo,” Chris said. “The best luck I’ve had so far is to be able to work with the wolves. It’s hardly a substitute for what I had, but it’s close enough.” 

Tom’s thumb described patterns against his arm and made Chris shiver; the sensations tickled, but didn’t feel unpleasant. 

“I miss my pack, Tom,” Chris said.

“I know, Chris, that’s understandable.” Tom said, gently. “Don’t you want another? That sounds so crass to ask that, but it might help.” 

“I’ve thought about it,” Chris said. “I never seemed to have the time, you know? First I was trying to get away from the memories in Melbourne, then I come here and tried to settle into a country I wasn’t familiar with. That’s taken some time to adjust to, I tell ya.” 

“Well, at least, we speak the same language,” Tom pointed it. “It would have been murder if we spoke French here or something.”

“Hell, yeah,” Chris said, with a sudden surprised laugh. ”I can’t speak French.” 

Tom grinned at that, and watched Chris quietly. 

“The thing is, if I don’t start building a pack soon, I run the risk of going insane,” Chris admitted, dropping his gaze to the tabletop, uncomfortably. 

He felt a sudden, inexplicable wash of shame coursing through him, heating his body with the remnants of licking flames of embarrassment; Tom’s fingers tightened against his arm in response. When he glanced up at the other man, he saw only sympathy in the other’s eyes and not the judgemental disgust he thought he deserved.

“Is that literal or figurative?” Tom asked, quietly.

“Literal,” Chris replied, morosely. “It happens to all packless Alphas. None of us can handle being alone; all Alphas, like me, need a pack to lead, and to have others to care for and provide for. Werewolves are a sociable lot and without the comfort of pack-mates, we wither, and go insane, before we die.” 

“Jesus,” Tom said, finally understanding the weight that Chris had been carrying on his shoulders. “Just a thought but if it helps you out, you could always try biting me again, just to make sure I really do turn.” 

“You don’t mean that,” Chris replied, with a bitter laugh. “We barely know each other.” 

“I do mean it,” Tom said, resolutely. “I’d rather be a wolf, than watch you lose your mind.” 

“Thank you,” Chris said, so quietly, Tom almost didn’t hear him. “You have a kind soul.” 

“That’s what people tell me. Anyway, what’s the downside? I spend three nights every month furry. I can think of worse things,” Tom said, quietly, with a brave attempt at a smile. 

Despite that show of bravery, Chris could still smell the fear and uncertainty that surrounded Tom. 

“Other than being some mad, slavering beast? You must have had a crazy upbringing,” Chris said, with a laugh.

“I’m an actor. I’ve probably played worse things than a great, slavering beast,” Tom said. “Norman Bates, for one. And a giant homicidal tree, once. I even had a chainsaw. I ended up lopping my own head off. Not literally, obviously.” 

He rapped his knuckles against his own head with a grin at Chris.

“I think you’re having me on,” Chris said, uncertain as to whether he should be laughing or not. 

“It’s true. I think I still have the programs, perhaps a flyer, somewhere. You’ll see it in print - Tom Hiddleston, the homicidal tree,” Tom said, mouth quirking into a smile. “Admittedly, I was six at the time. Give me some credit.” 

Chris began to laugh at that.

“Fine, now I’m starting to believe you,” Chris said, with a shake of his head.

Tom snickered at that, before taking his hand away from Chris’ arm and wrapping it back around his mug again.

“I meant what I said, you know. If it helps you, I’m willing to be bitten,” Tom said, seriously.

“I’ll think about it,” Chris said, quietly. 

“If you do decide to go ahead with it, please, just make it quick,” Tom said, with a grimace. 

Chris nodded at that, eyes never leaving Tom, as the other man rose to wash up their chocolate-sticky mugs. He continued watching, weighing up the possibilities of what Tom had offered him. He couldn't decide whether Tom was being brave or incredibly foolhardy, entrusting his life to the jaws of a werewolf, yet he couldn’t think of another person who would have made that same offer. That Tom had even offered off his own back spoke volumes about the other man, and Chris was sorely tempted to just bite him and have done with it. After all, he reasoned that it wouldn't be as though he was doing it against Tom’s will.

He was still staring when Tom threw a grin over his shoulder, all open and friendly warmth, as though the other man was amused by Chris’ scrutiny. It was then that Chris knew he’d go ahead with it; it was almost as though he’d always known he’d do it, right from the first moment he’d met him. That one chance encounter in a West End cafe might not have been such a random occurrence after all, it seemed to Chris then as if it the Fates had been smiling upon him, offering him a man who was brave enough to offer himself to the jaws of the wolf, kind enough to help a man he barely knew to fight the curse that threatened him and sweet enough to be able to survive the change without changing into a complete monster as some did. Chris was moving before he even knew what was happening next, his beast unleashed momentarily as he reached for Tom.

~~~


	12. Tom

Tom’s mind was elsewhere as he washed the mugs up at the sink; he barely heard Chris move until his arms were pinned by his sides and full weight of Chris was pinning him up against the sink. Tom cried out in distressed surprise, tried to struggle away yet Chris was too strong, breath panting hard against Tom’s neck.

“You wanted this,” Chris ground out, voice already deeper from where he was changing. “You shouldn‘t have offered yourself to me, if you didn‘t mean it.” 

Tom whimpered, yet stilled, chest heaving as fear rocketed through him. Even though he’d meant what he’d said, he hadn’t expected Chris to be quite so frightening. He could feel Chris’ body changing against him, before he was pinned down against the work-surface, Chris’ mouth clamped tightly against the back of his neck. Tom closed his eyes, thinking that Chris was going to kill him. Instead, the wolf transferred his mouth to Tom’s shoulder again, biting down hard once, twice, three times, breath hot against him even through his shirt as his teeth broke skin again, again, and again. Tom cried out each time, before Chris dropped away, a fearful whine in his throat. Tom sank to the floor, before he felt Chris’ tongue soothing against his cheek, lapping at him and nuzzling him as though checking to see whether he was alright. It was only then that Tom realized that Chris hadn’t been aiming to kill him after all; the attack, which had seemed frenzied to him, was Chris’ way of trying to save himself.

“I’m sorry,” Tom said, raising his non-savaged arm to wrap it around Chris’ furry neck. “I’m so sorry. You weren’t trying to kill me, were you?”

Chris whined out a noise that was almost like a - no. Tom tightened his half-hug upon Chris’ shoulders, marvelling at the way that Chris allowed him to hold onto him that way. He wondered in a mad back room corner of his mind just how many people had willingly hugged a werewolf and gotten away with it. He wagered that he was the first and it made him laugh, crazily. Chris whined again, questioningly,. before Tom patted his head, gently.

“It’s okay, Chris. I was just thinking that I’m lucky you haven’t torn my head off yet for hugging you,” he said.

Chris’ only response was to rest his heavy head upon Tom’s undamaged shoulder, one paw resting upon Tom’s thigh. Tom could feel Chris’ chest rise and fall in a great, huffing sigh and he dared to stroke one hand down the other’s furred back. Oddly, that one gesture gave him a small sense of comfort, yet he didn’t repeat it. Instead, he rested against the wolf, and sighed. 

“You can stay in the guest room, tonight, if you want,” he murmured, into Chris’ furred neck. 

Chris growled out something that sounded like a - yes. Tom laughed, still surprised that he could make sense out of a few random growls and whines; still, he waited until Chris eased away, before using the nearby work-surface to regain his feet again. Chris followed him through the apartment, hot breath blasting against the back of Tom’s neck, as he showed him where the bathroom was, and the guest room. Chris sat in the doorway, watching as Tom turned down the covers on the bed, before Tom left him alone for the night.

~~~


	13. Chris

Chris strode through the London Underground, tiled walls seeming to press in upon him, making him feel more claustrophobic than he already was. The heat in the long expanses of hallways was unimaginable to Chris, bearing down upon his shoulders and head like a touchable force. How humans stood it, he never knew, yet judging by the harassed looks and the general hustle and bustle of those around him, he supposed that they didn’t. 

He could hear a train pulling out of the station ahead of him, that odd hushing-whirring sound that seemed peculiar to trains in the Underground. He could feel the vibrations of the train’s passage in the air, striking against his skin and his senses more acutely than it would a human, and he growled, looking forward to the time when he could escape the boxed in feeling that was threatening to choke him. 

His mind drifted back to Tom, still asleep in his apartment when Chris had left. Chris had sneaked a look at the other man’s shoulder, and had winced at the welts that had marred the otherwise smooth perfection of Tom’s skin. Even he had to admit that red as they had been when he’d seen them this morning, the welts had already started to heal. That had given Chris some peace of mind; his beast had snarled in satisfaction at that and the madness that threatened him receded a little. Already, he could sense that Tom would be a Beta wolf, stronger than most, and second only in power and strength than an Alpha. 

He’d crept out of the room, and left a note on Tom’s kitchen table, telling the other man that he’d be back in the apartment that evening, after work and to expect him around 10pm. He’d also apologized for taking one of Tom’s bags, and promised to pay him for damages, should any damages occur. He’d stopped only once after leaving Tom’s to return to his own place, to shower and to dress in a fresh set of his own clothes. 

Chris turned a corner, thoughts returning to the present; the claustrophobic confines of the Underground’s corridors had widened out into the station proper. He waited for a clutch of people to crowd around one of the turnstiles before he took the opportunity to vault over one of them, obscured from view by the press of suited bodies around him. He didn’t have a ticket to be able to pass through the turnstiles and didn’t want to waste the money on one, when he wasn’t about to stay long enough to use one of the trains.

The bag he was carrying felt heavy upon his back, dragging against his shoulders even with the effortless grace of vaulting over the turnstile. He threaded his way through more crowds, surrounded on all sides by the sounds of different accents - German, British, American, even a few fellow Australians. Chris ignored them all, yet couldn't ignore the distinct feeling of being watched. He knew that there were vampires among the crowd; that he’d dared to venture amongst their territory was all too evident. 

Chris stopped, chest heaving with the strain of breathing past the claustrophobia and the close heat, when he saw one of the vampires in question approaching him, a cool expression upon her face. He knew this one - Claudia; she was the mate of London‘s head vampire, Dominic.

“You should not be here, wolf,” Claudia said, her voice coloured with an Austrian accent. “This is not your domain.” 

“Maybe not, but I have a message to deliver,” Chris said, as he swung the bag from his shoulder.

He gave it a cursory glance, relieved to note that it was not obvious what the thick canvas held, at all. Claudia’s nostrils flared as she caught the scent of death and old blood wafting from the bag. She gave it a quizzical, calculating look, as though she didn’t know what it was nor what to make of it. Chris could hardly blame her; he guessed it wasn’t every day that a werewolf ventured willingly into the realm of the vampires, less so with an object such as he carried. That the vampires held no such compunction into invading his territory never failed to irk him, yet he supposed that the vampires needed a change of food source sometimes. 

“Well then, deliver it, Herr Hemsworth,” she purred, putting as much sarcasm as she could upon his name.

Chris visibly bristled at that, a growl rumbling in his chest yet he refused to react to her. She merely raised one eyebrow at him and cocked a hip sassily, an amused smirk upon her face. She knew as well as he did that he could not attack her in full sight of the humans. 

“I can't, not here,” he said. 

Claudia’s eyebrow rose again, yet she tossed her hair over her shoulder as she turned away, gesturing for him to follow her as she did so. Chris followed, more because he had to than for the fact that she’d asked. He remained silent, eyes scanning the crowds and spotting still more vampires milling through the commuters, no doubt picking out the meals that were to be had. 

She took him to one of the doorways laid flush against the side of the wall, opening it to reveal a janitor’s office inside. Chris followed her, nostrils flaring at the stink of vampire inside. She moved a cupboard aside easily with both hands laid flat against its side, revealing yet another door behind it. Chris followed her through, into an obviously man made (or rather vampire-made, Chris corrected himself) tunnel. He continued following until they reached an office. Claudia flung herself down against the couch inside, indolence clear in every line of her body. Chris snorted, knowing that she was just as ready to spring into action as he was, despite her attempt at languid indifference. 

“You may speak to me or not at all,” she said, imperiously, waving one hand towards him as though she were queen of the vampires. 

Chris supposed that she would be; she was the highest ranking vampire out there, second only to Dominic himself. 

“You might want to think about where you’re travelling in future,” he growled at her. “And who you’re threatening.” 

“I was unaware we were threatening anyone,” she said, too innocently. 

“That’s a load of crock, mate,” Chris said. “You know full well who you’ve been threatening; you’ve been wanting to run me out of town since I got here.” 

“We have no use for the likes of you, here, you know that, especially a lone wolf. A lone wolf is more dangerous than a whole pack of werewolves combined,” Claudia said, with a snort. “You should know better than anyone that unattached Alphas are prone to madness without a pack to dominate and subjugate. How‘s the sanity keeping these days, Herr Hemsworth? Are you well?” 

Chris kept silent; he knew that Claudia was right, even though he had shown no hint of madness since he’d been cast adrift from his original pack. He didn’t know how long he would have had left if not for Tom; it had often felt like a death sentence, ticking away until reality kicked in and slipped away from him. In some, it took a few months, in others, a few years. He’d been without a pack for a few years, and he knew that most Alphas hadn’t lasted much longer than that. 

He only hoped that Tom was enough to tide him over until they could start building their own pack from the ground up. That he was even including Tom in his future plans made him feel better, even though he knew that he ought to ask Tom first whether he would be willing to aid him further. 

“Ah, you are silent, liebchen. Perhaps I have struck a nerve?” she asked, a delighted cackle that sounded truly evil slithering across his skin. 

He snarled again, a sharp bark of warning leaking past his lips and she recoiled visibly. No matter how content she felt in her own territory, the fact that she had a dangerous, and what she thought was a very lone Alpha with her was never far from her mind, it seemed. She yawned, a fake gesture of boredom, before she gestured for Chris to open his bag.

“You bore me with your presence. Show me what gift you have in your bag and the sooner you can get out of my domain,” she said, still feigning boredom, yet Chris still could detect the hint of tension beneath that bored facade. 

“Not much of a gift, I fear, but a warning,” Chris said, as he dumped the vampire’s head upon the desk. “This one tried to attack the human I’m protecting last night.” 

Claudia stared in shock for a few moments, before she started to scream. She still was screaming when Chris left the office, to make his way out into the night and the freedom of open spaces. It was a long time before he returned to Tom. Even though he didn’t enter Tom’s apartment block, he knew that the other man was inside. He could smell Tom’s scent strong on the breezes, stronger than it would have been if Tom had not been there. 

He made no attempt to enter the building; instead, he made sure that he was alone before he marked his territory in wolf fashion, urinating across the boundaries separating garden from the pavement. Once he was satisfied that he’d done enough to keep Tom safe for a while longer, he walked away. He hailed a taxi and headed for London Zoo; he knew he had a long day ahead of him. One of his wolves was expecting babies that day, and he wanted to be with his surrogate pack when the cubs came.

~~~


	14. Tom

Tom spent most of his day alone. When he’d awoken, it was to find Chris had already gone; Tom couldn’t help but feel a stab of disappointment at that. He’d wanted to talk to the other man some more, to find out what to expect when the change happened; it had only occurred to him upon waking that he hadn’t thought to ask Chris that the previous evening. He had to give himself some leeway; after all, he'd had a lot to take in that didn’t happen to him ordinarily. Still, he appreciated the fact that Chris had bothered to leave him a note; after all, he supposed Chris owed him little now that Tom had helped him. He had to admit that he was curious as to why Chris needed one of his bags, however. 

As the day wore on, Tom started to feel out of sorts; his movements were reduced to restless flurries, while his gaze drifted off at odd angles so that he stared off into nothing, mind forever captured by thoughts of the moon and the coming night. Of course, the foremost thought in his mind would be that he would change,. and that thought at turns scared him and elated him. He knew, however, that there was little he could do about it now, nor would he make a different choice, if the previous evening’s situation arose again; he knew he’d chosen this, to prevent madness from descending upon Chris’ mind, robbing him of everything until he died. Tom knew that he was too much of a bleeding heart to condemn another to that fate; in that, he took pride in his choice. 

Tom craved food all day; his mind never wandered far from the thought of eating. It didn’t seem to matter how much food he ate, however, he was always hungry. He even thought about not turning up at the Dominion that evening, yet knew that he couldn’t blow off an entire evening’s performance at such short notice and not have muttering behind the scenes regarding drama queens and lead performers. 

The theatre was as packed with people as it ever was, and the crowds seemed to bear down upon Tom; the scents, the sounds, the mere press of other actors backstage proved almost too much for him to cope with. Every time that someone drew near, he caught their scent and he could feel the answering punch and coil of his beast inside straining to break free, to bite, to snap, to consume all that was in front of him. He could feel fur itching beneath his skin, straining to break free and every joint ached as though they’d been placed in unnatural positions. His head started to ache before even an hour had passed, and he was looking forward to the time when he could leave the Dominion behind and return to the safety and the quiet of his own apartment. 

His fellow actors noticed his skittishness, his inability to sit still while his make-up was being applied, and his growling impatience when anyone grew too close to him, yet he tried to pass it off as mere nerves, a sickly grin accompanying his weak explanation. Tom was relieved to note that no one questioned him, even though Tom himself had displayed no previous signs of nervousness in the past. 

His situation did not improve when he took to the stage, the eyes of the audience seeming to press down upon him with a weight all of their own. He could feel his beast trying to rise to the surface again, threatening to punch out of his body and to roam free through the audience, howling in exultation as he ripped through every last one of them. He prowled the stage, feeling trapped and barely able to remember his lines, yet despite this, he was told that it was the best performance he’d ever given, and that his King Henry was at his angriest, most impassioned best. This praise surprised and embarrassed him, as he felt it entirely misplaced, given the circumstances. 

Whilst still at the theatre, he heard the news of a body found dumped in a Covent Garden rubbish bin; the police were investigating and the early word on the street was that the man had been murdered and beheaded. No one knew where the head was. Tom’s back stiffened at the news, yet he made no comment upon it. He knew well what had really happened, yet he had no idea where the head was. He wondered if Chris had taken it, yet he couldn’t fathom why. He made a note to himself that he would try to find a way of asking Chris about the head‘s whereabouts, without seeming rude or confrontational. How he was going to do that was another matter, in Tom’s opinion. 

The trip home was uneventful; he’d stopped at the cafe, yet Chris hadn’t shown. Tom had managed to wolf down two servings of steak and chips, a feat that was unusual for him ordinarily. Tom knew that although Chris had promised him he’d swing by his apartment later that night, he probably would be too late. Already he felt a certain stirring within him, nerves itching and scratching ceaselessly, while something coiled in his gut as though something was threatening to punch free. 

The trip home from the cafe seemed longer that night, and the train itself too claustrophobic, yet still, Tom was glad to attain the safety of the familiar walls and well loved furniture that comprised his apartment. He purposefully left the door unlocked after checking the time; he knew from Chris’ earlier note that the other man expected to swing by at 10. Tom had another half an hour to wait. 

The sounds of the apartment seemed louder than usual that night, the familiar ticks of an old building settling around him seemed as loud as an earthquake, his clock, usually a soothing tick, now sounded as loud as the inner workings of Big Ben. His skin felt over-heated and sore and his earlier restlessness returned full force, reducing him to a restless wreck in his living room, pacing the floor and counting each and every step from wall to wall as though each passage through the room was his first. 

He dropped into his armchair, leg jiggling as he stared sightlessly at his bookcase, eyes widened into a thousand mile stare as he tried to ignore the fiery itch that burned beneath his skin. One hand rose, fingers scratching at his bare forearm, yet that gesture only served to make the itch worse. He almost came close to ripping his skin to shreds with the ferocity of his scratching before he caught himself in time, embarrassed by his own show of lack of restraint. 

Tom’s teeth even began to itch, as though they wanted to itch right out of his gums; his eyes felt too hot and he became aware of every strand of hair upon his head, mussed now into messy curls with the way he’d been tugging at them earlier in the evening, running restless, ever moving hands through their sun-kissed brown strands.

And then the pain really hit him, blazing fire scorching through his veins, bones lengthening and stretching seemingly almost out of his sockets. He yelled out, an elongated cry of helpless pain, as he pitched forward onto his hands and knees, which struck against the unforgiving carpet before his fireplace. His whole body was shaking with the force of it, every bone snapping and realigning to different positions and proportions, body taking on a new shape that should have felt unnatural. He could feel his fur pushing out from his skin, yet it was when his tail started growing that he blacked out completely. 

Some time later, he came around, and Chris was kneeling beside him, running soothing hands against his back; it was only then that Tom realised that he was naked and blissfully human again. The pain had receded to a dull ache in his body now, yet the effects of his first change still lingered. He shifted, and Chris’ hands moved with him, still soothing against him, eyes weary yet kind as though he expected Tom to break, to cry or to attack him. 

“You’re alright, fella, easy,” Chris was saying when Tom could concentrate on the words that were falling from the other man’s mouth. 

Tom wondered then if that was the way he talked to the wolves that he cared for, and strangely, it calmed him, made him feel centred and at home. He tried to smile, and raised one hand to rest it upon Chris’ knee, using the other man as a leverage point so that he could sit. It was only then that he realised that Chris had bothered to get a blanket from his bedroom, to cover his nakedness. Strangely, Tom felt grateful for the fact that the other man had bothered to take care of him when he couldn’t have done the same for himself. He groaned and rubbed hands over his face, feeling blissful skin against his palms, the only hair on him now was the goatee beard he’d grown for his role. Chris’ hands were on his back now, still making soothing motions against him, fingers massaging into tense muscles, even as Tom shifted to get into a more comfortable sitting position. 

“How are ya, mate? You okay?” Chris asked, finally asking a direct question of Tom. 

“Yes. No. I actually have no clue right now,” Tom said, with a self-deprecating laugh and an easy shrug. “I’ve just changed into a werewolf. How do you think I feel?” 

“The first times are always the hardest, mate,” Chris said, looking at him with such worry and concern, Tom almost hugged him. 

That they were still almost relative strangers to one another and Chris still felt that concern meant a lot to Tom, as though his earlier kindnesses in reaching out to Chris when he looked like he needed a friend were being repaid. 

“Was it that bad for you?” Tom asked, feeling like he had to say something when embarrassment and awkwardness kicked in. 

“Yeah, except I had no one to help me,” Chris said, bitterly. “I was attacked by a werewolf in the Outback when I was turned, and couldn’t get back into Melbourne in time to get help. There’s nothing so lonely as being surrounded by so much empty space and not being able to call for help.” 

“I’m sorry,” was all Tom could think to say. 

Chris merely smiled at him, as though he didn’t know what to say. Then he rested one large, overly warm hand against Tom’s back; it was only then that Tom realized he was now shivering. He thought it was more to do with the shock of his changing rather than feeling cold however. 

“Come on, you’d best get yourself decent and we can get you some food. You’re gonna need it after your change,” Chris said. 

“Actually, I have some steaks in the fridge. Would you mind putting them on to cook while I take a shower? I feel like I’m in need of one,” Tom said. “And can you get some chocolate pudding out of the freezer, too? I really am craving something sweet, right now.” 

Chris shrugged as though it was of no consequence to him, before he said - “Too easy, mate.” 

That at least made Tom smile, his usual broad and sunny grin brightening his face as he stood, careful to keep his blanket planted firmly around his waist. Chris chuckled at that; Tom thought that the modesty came a little too late, as Chris, no doubt, had already seen everything. 

“You should have seen my pack in Australia. Everyone went naked at the time of the full moon,” Chris said, as Tom started to shuffle through to the bathroom. 

“Everyone?” Tom asked, with a snort. 

Chris nodded, a certain twinkle in his eyes that made Tom wonder if he were merely yanking his chain. He didn’t like to press the issue, further, however; it seemed rather imprudent to him, after what had happened to Chris‘ pack, just in case Chris had been serious. Chris shooed him away, before heading to the kitchen.

~~~


	15. Chris

The smell of steaks frying surrounded Chris, coupled with the tangy scent of caramelised onions. He hummed to himself, as he flicked the steaks over in the pan with a spatula, and nodded in satisfaction over the satisfying sizzle that the movement had created. He glanced up when smelt Tom’s approach, that distinct lupine scent underpinning Tom’s usual scent of cologne and soap. He was already turning before Tom could even say anything; Tom’s look of surprise produced a smile in Chris. Chris didn’t give Tom a chance to speak, for he flipped one of the steaks on a waiting plate nearby, accompanied by some of the onions. 

“I hope you like your steak rare. I think you might prefer it that way now, if you’re anything like I was,” Chris said. “At the start of it all.” 

“I could just about eat anything, I think; I’m famished,” Tom said, accepting the plate from Chris’ hands, before taking the hunk of buttered bread next. “Thanks, you’re a star.” 

Chris merely shrugged modestly, before he slapped his own steak upon the other plate, and brought it to the table where he settled himself opposite Tom. They ate in silence, forks and knives scraping against porcelain as they did so. Tom was the first to finish, a satisfied look upon his face as he rubbed his full stomach with a satisfied sigh. Chris stood and served up the chocolate pudding, which Tom seemed to inhale greedily, almost as soon as the bowl was placed before him. 

“You weren’t joking when you said you like your pudding,” Chris said, from around a mouthful of his own pudding. 

Tom merely smiled at him, and didn’t comment further. Tom stood a few moments later, to pour out a couple of beers; Chris took his from Tom gratefully, clearing his mouth to thank the other man. He took a sip, watching Tom carefully as the other man sat opposite him again. Tom raised his eyebrows at him in a silent question, as though picking up on the fact that Chris wanted to say something. 

“So what are you planning on doing now?” Chris asked. 

“Other than washing the dishes? Nothing,” Tom said, before he grinned cheekily at the other man. “I knew what you meant, Chris and I really don‘t know. There‘s not much I can do, except change three times a month, now.” 

Chris remained silent, hands laced across his lean stomach as he watched Tom. 

“What?” Tom asked, a little baffled by the other’s scrutiny. 

“Is that it?” Chris asked, sounding a little miffed even to his own ears. 

“I don’t know what else to say, Chris. I suppose you’re not going to stay now that you’re free of your curse,” Tom said, sadly. “You’ve got what you’ve wanted now, haven’t you? My role here’s done.” 

“No, it isn’t,” Chris said, fiercely, straightening up from his slouch to place balled fists upon the tabletop. 

“No?” Tom asked, raising his eyebrows and aiming for a calm expression, yet Chris could detect the scent of hopefulness beneath it all. 

“You helped me out, now it’s time for me to repay the favour,” Chris said. “I’m going to give you the chance that I never had. I’ll help you with your change, and try and teach you how to do it without it hurting, okay?” 

“Okay,” Tom said, slowly. “I don’t think I could go through that again, without help.” 

“Exactly. Like I said, I was alone in the Outback when I changed; I had no one to help me for those three nights because Melbourne was too far away. By the time I returned, I was too ashamed to seek help until others started finding me first,” Chris said.

Tom frowned, as though he didn’t understand; Chris knew he should have expected that. 

“I’m an Alpha, and wolves of a lower status are naturally attracted to Alphas, especially if they have no pack of their own. I think it’s a scent thing, or something,” Chris said, with a shrug. “It took about six months for my pack to fully form, but when I realized that I wasn’t as alone as I thought, it made things easier. It then became my duty to look out for them, to lead them and protect them from others.” 

“That sounds really nice, actually,” Tom said, a little wistfully.

“It is, both for my pack and for me,” Chris said, proudly. “I want you to be the first in my new pack, Tom. Please.” 

Tom stared at him, before he slowly nodded.

“It would be my honour,” he said, before he grinned. “How do you know I’m not an Alpha, too? Aren’t Alpha males supposed to fight?” 

“Yes, we do, as a rule, but you’re not an Alpha. We would have already been at each other‘s throats if you were,” Chris said. “You’re a Beta. I scented it on you earlier.” 

“Okay. A Beta, huh? So, um, what does that mean, exactly?“ Tom asked, with a tiny quirk of his mouth.

“Whatever you want it to mean. The option‘s there for you to be my second in command when I get a pack together again, if you want to be. You‘d basically get all the benefits of being an Alpha, without actually being an Alpha,” Chris said, as he watched Tom closely. “If you choose to lead my pack with me, no one would dare fight you for the position, not if I specifically ordered them not to.” 

“Uh-huh,” Tom said, slowly, before an equally slow grin began to work its way across his face. “Seriously? You’d trust me to be good at something like that?“ 

“C’mon, I’ve seen your magic while you’re leading the troops against Harfleur. I think you’d manage a pack of werewolves alright,” Chris said, thinking again of Tom’s stint upon the stage of the Dominion, with a grin. 

“Yeah, that was a play, Chris,” Tom said, with a laugh. “Kind of different to the real thing.” 

Chris laughed himself at that, before he shrugged.

“I still think you’ve got it in you to be a good leader. Or secondary leader anyway, after me, of course,” Chris said, with a grin. “Besides, I trust you.” 

Tom looked surprised at that, before a touched expression crept across his face.

“Thank you,” he said. “That means a lot. And I accept your offer. It would be my honour.” 

Tom grinned then, that sunny grin that Chris was becoming so familiar with. Chris smiled back at him, a feeling of pleasure coiling through him at that. He nodded, extended his hand towards Tom, which Tom immediately shook to seal the deal. 

“There is something I want to ask you about, Chris,” Tom said, before he paused and dropped his gaze to the tabletop. 

He didn’t lift his eyes again until Chris moved, and made a questioning noise at Tom’s continued silence. Tom looked uncomfortable and Chris could all but smell his embarrassment baking from him. He nodded and tried to show the concern he felt inside. He listened as Tom described what had happened to him at the theatre, of the feelings of entrapment and of having to struggle with his beast as it tried to rise to the surface. Chris sighed at that, knowing full well what it felt like to have to struggle with his wolf-self. 

“You don’t seem surprised,” Tom said, observing Chris’ expression. 

“Nah. That’s normal, for us,” Chris replied, grimly. “I feel like that all the time; not to harp on about anything, mate, but I should think it’s worse for me than it’ll ever be for you.” 

“Because of the Alpha thing?” Tom asked, understanding dawning in his eyes. 

Chris nodded at that, before he offered the other man a grateful smile. He felt glad that Tom seemed to be on the same wavelength as him, understanding things without needing explanations. It proved to him that he’d made the right decision in offering Tom the position of being his second in command. 

“Exactly,” he said, gently. “Things have changed now, mate; mostly it’s a good thing to be like us, yet there are drawbacks. Crowds are never going to be comfortable for us, regardless of whether you’re an Alpha, Beta or an Omega.” 

“So, what do you suggest?” Tom asked, already deferring to Chris as the natural leader.

That made Chris grin a little, pleasure tempering the pride that suffused his very being. 

“Try sticking it out at the theatre for as long as you can. If it gets too much for you ... well, do you have a contingency plan?” Chris asked. “I mean, for me, it’s always been working with animals or nothing. I’m lucky that I manage to keep out of the public eye for the majority of the time. It’ll be a bit more difficult for you, considering your job.” 

Tom nodded, a slight frown working between his brows as he thought. Then his expression cleared and his sunny smile returned; his eyes, when they met Chris’ own, were clear and hopeful. 

“Well, I’ve always fancied giving acting workshops a go,” Tom replied. “It might help up and coming actors to gain an insight into theatre work, if they learn from someone who knows what it’s like to be in that arena.” 

Chris nodded, yet kept silent. 

“I can keep the classes small, then it won’t be quite so much pressure or as much temptation to, you know, eat someone,” Tom said, with a laugh. 

Chris laughed himself, before he nodded out his approval. 

“That sounds as though it’d be a good back-up plan,” he said, his approval warming his voice. “Like I say, give it time, first, eh? If you can’t deal, then change jobs.” 

Tom nodded, and Chris noted the hope that still glimmered in Tom’s expression. He didn’t speak again; it was Tom that broke the companionable silence between them. 

“So what happens now?” Tom asked. “I mean in general, not about my work.” 

“We wait,” Chris replied. “Now that I’m taking up the Alpha mantle again properly, any unattached wolves in the area will sense that, and will come calling. Once we have an established pack formed, then we’ll have our own personal army to deal with any attacks from vampires and rival packs alike. Wolves shouldn’t be an immediate problem; there are no Alpha-led packs in the immediate area, at least.” 

His face turned grim at that, thinking of the vampires which would and could still pose a problem. 

“And the vampires?” Tom asked, picking up on the things that Chris didn’t say. 

“We’ll deal with them,” Chris said, immediately including Tom in the situation with his words. “They’ve had their first warning.” 

“Oh?” Tom asked. 

Chris nodded, before he filled Tom in on what had happened earlier that morning. Already, Chris had started to feel like the Alpha he’d once been in Australia, even though his pack currently only consisted of two wolves. Tom proved himself to be a diligent listener, and intelligent, never once questioning anything Chris said, unless he wanted to know more. Chris felt a sense of pride in that; Tom, he knew, would prove himself to be a very good Beta in time.

~~~


	16. Tom

“The trick of it is, you have to relax into it,” Chris told Tom, the following evening. “I found that out the hard way. The more you fight it, the more it hurts.” 

“I guess that kind of makes sense,” Tom said, with a smile. “It did rather take me by surprise last night.” 

Chris merely smiled at that, before he looked to the sky showing in intermittent bursts through the swaying trees of the park. It was close to midnight, and the last night of the full moon. Tom watched him, at the almost sad tilt of his head, as he watched for the moon to sail between the wildly whipping branches. It was a windy night, yet the sky was clear, showing a smattering of stars like so many diamonds painted across the heavens. Tom would think it pretty if he wasn’t so focussed on what was about to happen to him. A knot of fearful nervousness coiled in his gut, emotions that he knew would not help him. 

The change, when it started to happen a few moments later, seemed more painful than it had the previous night. Tom doubled over, an agonised cry ripped from his throat as he did so. Chris was on him in an instant, and Tom could feel his large hands massaging his shoulders and back, soothing away some of the pain, although not all of it.

“Relax, mate; take it easy, eh?” Chris said, concern warming his voice but for an instant.

Tom tried to listen, although he found it almost impossible to actually relax; the pain from the change that rippled through his body, ripping everything apart and putting it back together in different places proved hard to ignore. Chris was beside him throughout it, soothing hands forever kneading and massaging against his back and shoulders. Despite this, Tom was glad when the change had finished, body fully transformed into a different form. Tom was glad for the small favour of not having blacked out that time. It took less time for Chris to change, muzzle pressed to Tom’s shoulder, as though trying to scent whether Tom was alright. Chris whined, a throaty rumble that was clearly a question as to Tom’s well-being. Tom licked his face, trying to assure him that he was okay, before he bowed down on front legs, Beta instinct kicking in. He rolled onto his back, tongue lolling, tail wagging slightly in a clear indication of submission. Chris dipped his head to Tom, and nudged his shoulder with his nose - submission accepted, fealty recognized.

Tom scrambled to his feet, feeling as though something monumental had passed between them, before Chris turned, a beckoning growl leaking past barely bared teeth, before he led the other wolf away. Tom followed without question, a silent shadow to Chris’ larger one, as Chris led him through the vaulted night to find food for them both.

~~~


	17. Chris

**_three months later_ **

Three months later, Chris was glad to note that Tom had settled into his new skin well. Although the other man could never be as strong as Chris himself, Tom was proving that he was no lightweight. Chris watched him closely for signs of jealousy or rivalry; he‘d heard in other packs that Betas tried to kill their Alphas out of spiteful rage, yet Tom seemed more than content with his station in life. That alone reassured Chris that he’d been correct in thinking that Tom would work well within the confines of a pack, and would blossom beneath his command. They each learned to trust one another implicitly, and their friendship grew and solidified into an unbreakable bond. 

Tom didn’t get a chance to prove himself or his fealty to his Alpha until a week later, when they ran across a feeding vampire in their territory. They’d expanded the boundaries of their roaming, now stretching from Westminster and the West End to Hyde Park and St. James’ Park. It was in St James’ Park that they came across the vampire while Chris was teaching Tom how to track meals. The vampire, human held between cradling arms, had disengaged himself from his mostly dead victim’s throat once he became aware that he was no longer alone, before snarling at the wolves. 

When neither wolf backed down, the vampire dropped his victim to the ground and launched himself at Chris, the closest of the wolves, fingers digging into the meat of the larger wolf’s shoulders. Chris yipped in pain, teeth flashing in the night as he snapped and snarled at the vampire. Tom sprung into action, jaws clamping down hard upon the vampire’s neck in an attempt to save his Alpha. Although he’d never taken another life before, he found it surprisingly easy to sink teeth into undead flesh, to rend and tear, eyes glazed with fury as the vampire finally let go of Chris. 

Chris circled and jumped around them, aiming to get in a bite or two himself, yet found that he could not find easy access to the vampire, as Tom dove and struck, fury raging through him at the other’s attack. Tom’s jaws finally snapped home again on the vampire’s throat and he bit down hard, yanking his head to the side sharply. He broke the vampire’s neck, before he tore the head from its neck and let it drop. He took a moment to regroup, to reign in his anger, before he realized that Chris was no longer with him. 

Chris was waiting for him, sitting off to one side; the other wolf was watching him, a curious tilt to his head as though he wondered what Tom would do. Tom crawled along on his belly towards him, blood smeared around his jaws as he did so. Once again, Tom rolled into the submissive position and Chris’ muzzle dipped, to lay against Tom’s furred chest in acceptance of what Tom had done for him. Tom had repaid the favour, had saved Chris’ life in much the same way as Chris had saved his just a few months prior. Unlike the first time, both wolves ate the vampire’s body, soon turning their attentions to the vampire’s belated meal, knowing that it was too late for her; she was too far gone to be saved.

~~~


	18. Tom

**_seven months later_ **

The sun was just peeking through a crack in the curtains when Tom awoke, stretching luxuriously against the furred coverlets that now covered his bed. The furs were new, recently bought so that Tom could feel the luxury of fur even when he wasn’t wearing his own. He found he missed the comfort of its softness against his skin when he wasn’t under the influence of the moon , yet the furred blankets, he found, were more adequate in providing the comfort he needed. 

His bedcovers weren’t the only things that had changed; the Hemsworth pack had long since swelled in numbers. Chris had been right about packless werewolves being able to sense when a new Alpha was looking to form a new pack; lone wolves started drifting naturally towards them, submissive to the last. Most were Omegas, harmless wolves that had little to no power in comparison to either Chris or Tom, while a few were Betas, like Tom. None of the Betas wished to usurp Tom’s already well-established standing and role within their pack; none wished to go against their new Alpha in openly attacking Tom or trying to incite a fight so that they could take over. Instead, they deferred to him as easily and as cheerfully as they did to Chris; Tom found himself enjoying the close relationships a wolf pack brought him. 

Chris was doing well, Tom was glad to note; his eyes were bright, his smile as genuine as it must have been before tragedy befell him in Australia. The sadness that Tom had once sensed was no longer weighing down Chris’ shoulders; instead, the madness that once threatened Chris had all but vanished beneath the love of a wolf-pack. Chris had proved himself an effective leader, providing them with food, with love, with the leadership they needed when rival wolf-packs encroached upon their territory, or when vampires decided to attack. In return, his wolves were loyal to him; oftentimes, they would all crash at either Chris’ or Tom’s place, furred bodies wrapped one against the other to gain the most warmth and comfort from each other. Oftentimes, both Chris and Tom would seek each other out, to lay quietly side by side, muzzles tucked against each other’s sides and tails entwined, not allowing any other wolf to get closer than merely laying alongside them. Tom always remembered those times with fondness, when he felt the most contented. He knew that Chris felt the same way. 

Tom brought himself back to the present again, before he rose and drifted through to the kitchen still only clad in his sleepwear. He yawned and grabbed himself some breakfast from the fridge, before settling down at the table to eat. His mind drifted over thoughts of the coming day, and of the hours that would be spent in the various acting workshops he was teaching at the London Acting Workshop, based in Covent Garden. Each workshop was an intimate affair, with only a handful of students per workshop, seeking to gain advice from a seasoned stage actor. He’d long since given up his stage career, finding the press of humanity in the Dominion too intense for his new set of lupine instincts. The workshops at least provided him with the contact he needed with acting and the stage he still loved.

After the last workshop had ended for the day, he knew he would get to meet two newcomers to the pack; two cubs had been born to one of his fellow Betas and an Omega, Scarlett and Jeremy. He smiled at the thought of two new lives amongst them, which proved that tranquillity really could emerge from the shadows of their former lives. He hoped that the cubs marked the first of many for them all.

The End!


End file.
